Dublin, Ireland
Dublin, six-two-four, eight-two-nine-five,” the man answered.
“Aye, Paddy. How’re the lads?”
Quickly recognizing the voice, Kevin Donahue, brigade commander of the Irish Republican Army, went on alert.
“You’ve been makin’ scarce of yerself, Fergus.”
“Aye. Me presence in Dublin tends to make people nervous,” Fergus McNally responded. “I think we should talk. Be warned, Kevin. You’ve been working both sides of the street these past few years, and I’m not up for a one-way ride. If I go down when we meet, as the Pope’s me witness, I’ll take ya with me.”
“Things have changed over the past two years. I talk to the Brits-doesn’t mean I agree with them.”
“Indeed. And in America and Australia they’re changing even more. It’s Ireland’s turn, don’t’cha know? When and where?”
“O’Connell Street Bridge, two o’clock. I’ll be alone and unarmed. You have my word.”
“That’s always been good enough for me, Kevin. ’Til then.”
“Good day to ya, Mr. Donahue.” McNally was dressed in a blue blazer with gray trousers, looking much the businessman. “Shall we stroll the beautiful Liffey?”
“You went to ground quite well, Fergus.”
“Well, now, surely y’know the story of the fox and the hare.”
“Aye,” Kevin grinned. “Given the events of recent months with the Aussies and the Yanks, perhaps it’s time for the fox and the hare to dine out-together.”
“I agree. Everybody and their brother’s castin’ free of the politicians what control ’em, and the Yanks and the Brits seem to be in sync with the idea without so much as a ‘how do you do’ to the Irish. It’s just not on. They’ve never dealt in good faith, Kevin. And you, sittin’ at the polished table these past two years, usin’ yer mouth instead of yer brains.”
Donahue nodded. “I’ve got to admit, the old ways made their mark in spite of the cost. It just might be time for a wake-up call to remind them the squeaky wheel is the one that gets the grease.”
“And I know just where to make the wheel squeak, Commander. The American vice president will be visiting London in a couple of weeks to see the bloody PM. They’ll get all cozy in some vehicle, don’t’cha think? Maybe we can send them a message. How say ye?”
“Keep talkin’.”